


Room to Breathe

by berava



Category: Naruto
Genre: Family, Fatherhood, Freeform, a little angsty tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berava/pseuds/berava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freeform - Exploration of Suna Headcanons: Young-Dad Rasa, before things went really, really wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings and ideas when it comes to the Sand village so I'm trying to play with them a bit.

Certain people of certain minds often forced themselves to endure grievances far longer than necessary. They let it build, pretending it wasn't crushing up against their backs like a wall of stone, until they could find no more excuses and no more distractions. Sometimes it crushed them, sometimes they just stepped away.  
So far, nothing had managed to crush Rasa. The pressure would build and build until every task was done, then he would step away and breath before his resolve crumbled. If it would ever crumble, he knew it would crumble into anger. His anger wasn't loud, but it was mean, and he didn't have room for mean in his life anymore.  
Outside the valley walls, on the outskirts where only scatterings of the village lay, he was momentarily free from the shackles of his formal robes and office. It was early evening, the air cooling and the sky warped red by the vanishing sun. He could breath, let the breeze wash away the mounted agitation while one of the reasons for his restrained temper scurried on ahead.  
Karura would kill him if she knew he'd let the boy wander so far. How often had he heard 'he's only a baby!' in the last not-quite-two years? Too many. As though he could reign in the scrappy little ball of energy she'd created. It was all her. His son looked every bit his clone, but the temperament was all her: their emotions were easily incited and they were both endlessly stubborn. Though, Karura had definitely met her match with this one.  
“Kankurou.” Rasa called out, gesturing with two fingers when the toddler swivelled clumsily back around to look at him. Of course, his small, bare feet took four steps in Rasa's direction and he considered that obedience enough.   
“Come on, boy, your mama will never forgive me if you tangle with a scorpion or fall in another hole,” Rasa managed to gain distance on him with a few long strides, but Kankurou was already back off on his journey, unruly hair sticking out at all sorts of ridiculous angles and chubby limbs working double time to make sure he wasn't scooped up.  
“You really want to play this game again, kid? If you can't outrun your sister, you can't outrun me,” Rasa was skilled in retaining a stern and immovable visage, but even he was hard-pressed not to laugh at the way the boy waddled and scrambled over rocks and up inclines that only just reached Rasa's waist. He never did try to stop him unless they had to go home. Wasn't it his job to encourage fearlessness and curiosity?   
His eldest, Temari, was a different child entirely. She soaked up information by watching, retaining what she learned and applying it in ways only an almost-three-year-old could. He was eager to witness her intelligence grow, and took a small measure of pride in knowing at least some of it came from him. At least, Karura said as much. She was a smart cookie herself, Rasa insisted, but Karura was adamant that Temari was every bit his child, if Kankurou was every bit hers.   
That being said, they both doted on the opposites among their offspring. There was equal love for both, naturally, but when it came to personal time they found themselves splitting it this way. Karura wanted to surround Temari with strong and inspiring women, and when Rasa needed to get away from work his refuge came in the form of the funniest tiny person he knew.   
“Oh!”   
Rasa blinked out of his musings and turned towards the noise. Kankurou was bent at the waist with his hands on the ground, head turned and tilted so he could see into a gap between two boulders.  
“What's in there?” he asked as he closed the distance and sat cross-legged next to his son. Kankurou lowered onto his belly and tried to stick his arm inside, but Rasa stopped him with a light smirk.  
“That's a good way to lose your hand.”  
Though there was some resistance, both aggressive and passive, Rasa managed to scoop the boy up and put him in his lap. He was so small, even though people often mistook him for four. He was small to Rasa, at least. Vulnerable.   
Kankurou stuck his legs straight out, feet filthy with dust and knees sporting scrapes from some days past. Now caught, the boy seemed content to sit and get comfortable.  
“What do you think of all this, hm?” Rasa muttered, leaning back against the rock and looking out over the dry, cracked, and uneven land painted the colour of blood. “It doesn't look like much. Its pretty harsh and unforgiving, but it's going to shape you into someone strong. It's what the desert does.”  
Whether Kankurou was listening, he wasn't sure. The boy had tucked himself against his arm, leaning forward so Rasa could mindlessly rub his back. He'd probably fall asleep. He usually did.  
“Reto gathered all sorts of people—fighters, vagrants, refugees—he brought them all together and guided them here. Somewhere safe, defensible. Feels like that's slipping away, sometimes...”  
“Mmh!”  
Rasa blinked, then realized he'd been squeezing Kankurou to his chest and loosened his grip. Green eyes pinned him with an annoyed glare and Rasa laughed to see generations worth of finely honed sass and attitude compressed into one chunky little toddler. Maybe it wasn't all Karura, after all.   
“I'll turn it around for you, don't worry,” Rasa shifted the boy around until he was holding him like he would have before he'd learned to walk. “For everyone. But I shouldn't be venting my fears to a baby.”  
“No!”  
“I'm sorry, you're right. You're a big boy.”  
Rasa sighed and looked up again, contemplating standing and heading back home. He wasn't too keen to be there, not lately. As much as he loved his wife, looking at her was a constant reminder of things to come. Her belly grew bigger every day, and the clock ticked steadily down.  
“If you only knew how tempting it is to just leave right now. What would you think? If I just strapped you to my back and we went to find something easier?”  
Kankurou yawned, then bumped his head tiredly against Rasa's bicep. Rasa ignored the hollow feeling in his stomach, repressed the knowledge that the valley felt more and more like a cage every time he woke up.   
“Maybe that's what happened to the Third,” he pondered as he got to his feet, “Said 'screw it' and wandered off.”  
The trek back into the village was quiet, and Rasa was left to stew in personal reflection. He could imagine this was why he let Kankurou get away with so much, let him wander just a little further than he should have, let him make as many of his own decisions as he could get away with. He knew it would end soon. He knew that HE was going to be the one to make it end. It would only be a few years before Kankurou began his transformation into a useful shinobi.   
Looking down at his closed eyes and bobbing head, Rasa couldn't possibly imagine him as anything but this small, soft, reliant little thing. But it wouldn't be long before his capabilities began to manifest, until Rasa was loading him with as much skill and knowledge as he could hold. It would happen with Temari even sooner.  
It felt like he was two different men, pulled in two directions until it felt like he was going to split in half. He couldn't be both, not at once. He wasn't good enough for that. He was either the Kazekage, or he was 'dad', and one day they would be too old for 'dad' to be needed anymore. They'd be left with the Kazekage, and he wasn't a man that Rasa was entirely content with.  
“Whatever I turn you into,” he mumbled to the sleeping boy in his arms, “Don't let it be me.”


End file.
